


please, don't ever make me go

by leedeeloo



Category: TWRP | Tupper Ware Remix Party (Band)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-09-01 14:03:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16766590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leedeeloo/pseuds/leedeeloo
Summary: Sung came back.A sort of continuation of peachfloat's sung went solo.





	please, don't ever make me go

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Sung Went Solo](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16736745) by [peachfloat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachfloat/pseuds/peachfloat). 



> you better go read what inspire this

It was another day, just like the last, like the one before it. The only difference was that today Phobos was vacuuming the throw rugs in the house. He kind of relished in doing these bigger chores now, the once a week ones. It was never much, since it was just him now.

He pushed the reflexive thought of  _ Havve doesn’t count _ away as soon as it formed. Havve counted. Silent and still on the couch for almost a decade, he still counted. 

The vacuuming was done too soon. Dishes washed and put away too quickly. It was time to spend another long evening not alone, with Havve, and accidentally fall asleep on the couch so he could drag himself up to his room to properly go to bed at 1am. 

He settled on the couch, into Havve’s side, hoping his eyelids would feel heavy soon. He wasn’t up for conversation now, and Havve understood that.

Thankfully, he managed to start drifting off. Half dreaming to the soundtrack of commercials, mentally in a funny inbetween state where he knew he was dreaming but still subject to the strange logic. 

He jolted awake suddenly, feeling like he had been jostled. Like someone bumped into the couch. He looked around, and everything was as it should have been. Havve was gazing at the TV. Everything was still, quiet, cold. He relaxed back down, pulling the blanket up, his feet off the floor and knees up to his face. 

He was jostled again, this time awake enough to know that it wasn’t just the couch shaking- it was the house. More movement, the groaning of wood up up up by the roof.

Phobos stood, looked out the window; orange light of sunset in the front, something casting a shadow over the back.

He bounded up the stairs, more noises coming from the roof, he could tell the shingles were being torn off. His fingers scrambled to pull open the hatch into the attic, he split a nail by the time he got it open. He felt as though a plume of dust should have come down with the ladder, but it was just stale air up there.

He turned when he was at the top, not coming all the way up. Watching the hole, the door, left when Sung’s ship was docked there. More of those noises, louder and obviously metal rubbing the shingles, and the door rattled. Phobos held his breath as the knob turned.

Sung looked as though he had just left yesterday. 

He had the nerve to smile, and all Phobos could do in response was grimace. 

“Where have you been?” he demanded, leaving Sung obviously shocked.

“Phobos… you…” Sung mumbled, stepping into the attic, letting the door hang open. “You’re speaking.”

“It’s been over a decade, Sung.” Phobos stepped up into the attic, slouching because the ceiling was too low for him. He folded his arms over his chest, trying to keep his shoulders up. “Things change after all that time.”

“What? No, no no no, that can’t be right.” Sung took a few steps towards Phobos, then abruptly turned, started heading back to his ship. He turned again, hand at his chest, rubbing his glowing core. “That all took like, a month, tops, I can’t have-”

Sung looked up. Even from behind the visor, Phobos could tell he was scrutinizing his face. A few slow steps, his hands in the air, silently asking permission to touch Phobos’ face, which he granted.

Phobos sighed at the feeling; it had just been so long, he didn’t care how angry he was. He put his hand over Sung’s as he rubbed his skin. Ran a finger over crows feet, harsh frown lines worked into his skin, undeniably aged since they’d seen each other last. 

Even though all he’d seen was the bottom of his face, Phobos could tell Sung hadn’t aged at all. His lips were chapped, his nails were short and bitten, but that was about it. 

“Oh,  _ Phobos, _ ” Sung implored, “I’m so sorry I left you all so long, I didn’t mean-”

Phobos shook his head. “It’s just me.”

Sung’s mouth hung open. Phobos pulled his hand off his face, held it. 

“Meouch didn’t even stay for a year after you left. A few months. And Havve-” Phobos looked away, swallowed the lump in his throat. This was gonna be okay, he assured himself, Havve trusted Sung, Havve would be fine again. “-I’ll show you.”

All the way down, he kept his hand behind his back, Sung holding on. He didn’t mention how the door to Meouch’s room was shut, dust on the handle. How Phobos’ room was filled with an overwhelming amount of stuff, mattress on the floor and expanding into the rest of the room, books scattered everywhere, a den of distraction. 

Downstairs, he didn’t get to notice that the door to his room was shut as well. All he noticed, was supposed to notice, was Havve. 

Sung stepped past Phobos, knelt on the couch, leaning over Havve. Laid a hand on his chest.

“Why’s he off?”

Phobos took Havve’s hand, rubbed the cold digits. “His digestive system stopped working, and I didn’t know how to fix it. He couldn’t keep a charge long enough, so he shut himself down until-” He squeezed Havve’s hand, hoping more than ever before he’d squeeze back. “-until you came back to fix him.” 

Sung stood up, silent. 

He didn’t say anything for far too long.

“...You can fix him, right?” Phobos asked.

Sung nodded quickly. “Yeah, yeah I should be able to. How long has he been…” He didn’t want to say it. He didn’t even seem to want to hear the answer, didn’t want to face the time.

“About eight years, I think. I talk to him.” Sung huffed a breath out his nose at this, almost laughing. “And I leave the TV on when I’m out so he doesn’t get bored.”

As if nothing had changed, Sung put his arm around Phobos, hugging him. Phobos leaned into it, face smushed by the cone and he didn’t care. He turned, wrapped his arms around Sung, pressing his hands into a warm back for the first time in far too long. Being hugged back the first time in ages, tears coming up from something that didn’t leave a bitter tang in his mouth and a headache stretching from temple to temple. 

“Thank you for being here, Lord Phobos,” Sung whispered, and Phobos openly sobbed.


End file.
